


The Simple Life of Prince Harry Styles

by vondrostes



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Both literally and figuratively, Bottom Harry, Enemies to Lovers, Feminine Harry Styles, Flower Child Harry Styles, Fluff and Smut, Gucci Cruise 2019, Harry Styles is a Disney princess, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Nick POV, Prince Harry Styles, Riding, Rimming, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 16:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16043774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vondrostes/pseuds/vondrostes
Summary: The thing was, when Nick had agreed to help Aimee run the farm her grandparents had left for her, he hadn’t ever banked on having to house a member of the royal family as a consequence. But Alexa, who despite living on the farm with them now had maintained all of her posh social connections from uni, had apparently volunteered their humble abode as some sort of rehabilitation camp for the prince, who was a bit of a troublemaker, by all accounts.Nick wasn’t the least bit interested in this proposal, and probably would have put his foot down if it weren’t for the ludicrous amount of money the farm would be receiving in return, money he knew that Aimee desperately needed after the shite year they’d just had.Still, it wasn’t like Nick had to be nice to the bloke, even if he was a bloody prince.





	The Simple Life of Prince Harry Styles

**Author's Note:**

> This is based of course on the Gucci campaign we were so recently blessed with, and requested by a Patron (thank you, Emily!)
> 
> I wrote the entire thing in just a few hours so please forgive any errors.
> 
> This is pretty fluffy all the way through despite the tags. Enjoy!
> 
> If you want to see more from me, you can check out my links on Twitter: @vondrostes & @vondrostesupd8s

“It’s not going to be that bad.”

“It’s the end of the fucking world, Alexa,” Nick moaned into the crook of his elbow, his long arms folded over the faded-white picnic table perched crookedly in the grass behind the farmhouse. Nick had finished his lunch some time ago, and was itching to get back to work, but Aimee and Alexa were both slow eaters and had begged him to keep them company while they ate the rest of their meals.

And that’s when Alexa had dropped the mother of all bombshells.

“Don’t you think you’re being just a tad overdramatic?” Aimee asked, her eyebrow raised in blatant scepticism.

“Me?” Nick replied in a faux-offence. “Dramatic?”

Aimee and Alexa both rolled their eyes. “It’s for a week,” Aimee pointed out. “The stipend’ll last us until next year, at least.”

And well, Nick couldn’t exactly say no to the money.

The thing was, when Nick had agreed to help Aimee run the farm her grandparents had left for her, he hadn’t ever banked on having to house a member of the royal family as a consequence. But Alexa, who despite living on the farm with them now had maintained all of her posh social connections from uni, had apparently volunteered their humble abode as some sort of rehabilitation camp for the prince, who was a bit of a troublemaker, by all accounts.

Nick wasn’t the least bit interested in this proposal, and probably would have put his foot down if it weren’t for the ludicrous amount of money the farm would be receiving in return, money he knew that Aimee desperately needed after the shite year they’d just had.

Still, it wasn’t like Nick had to be nice to the bloke, even if he was a bloody prince.

The next morning found Nick stood out on the front lawn with Alexa and Aimee, dressed no better than his everyday dungarees, waiting for the aforementioned prince to arrive.

He was exactly two minutes late, which was the first strike against him. Nick looked on impatiently as a black town car finally made its way down the drive toward them, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. It stopped just short of the house, and it was nearly another full minute before the driver door opened to reveal a bulky severe-looking man, who didn’t spare a glance toward Nick and the others before going to the back of the car to open the door for the prince.

Nick was a good decade older than the boy—man, now, he supposed—and as a consequence had only retained a peripheral sort of awareness of him. The Prince Harry that stepped out of the town car onto his front drive was nothing like the mop-headed tween heartthrob Nick remembered.

This Harry was tall, elegant, and radiating a confusing mess of masculine and feminine energies that made Nick’s teeth hurt. Nick blinked hard at the soft lavender trousers, and then even harder at the bejewelled jacket that must have cost more than the mortgage on Aimee’s farmhouse. He felt almost as if looking at Harry for too long would cause him to go blind.

Nick stared down at his own feet instead, crammed into too-small work boots, scuffed and covered in mud. He listened to the crunch of Harry’s shoes against the dirt and gravel, waiting until he could see the toes of his beige loafers in the corner of his eye before he dared breathe again.

“Alexa, right?” Harry asked in a surprisingly deep voice. Nick had to suppress a shiver. He was convinced now that Harry’s presence was some sort of cosmic karma for the gay porn he’d stolen as a teenager, or for some other heinous crime he couldn’t remember but must have committed, because what other reason was there to deserve _this_? “Which must make you Aimee, and—”

Nick’s head shot up. “Nick,” he said coldly. “We aren’t meant to curtsy or anything, are we?”

Over Harry’s head of brown curls, golden laurel circlet nestled securely among them, Nick could see standing by the car. Waiting to see her brother off, he supposed.

He glanced back at Harry to find a confusing mixture of hurt and embarrassment plastered across his face. Nick had to squash down the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn’t like the monarchy had much real power these days, but it still wouldn’t do to push his luck too much.

“Shaking hands will suffice, I think,” Harry said a bit stiffly, before extending his out to Nick.

Nick stared at it for a second before reaching to take it in his own. Harry’s skin was cool and a bit damp, like he was nervous. Nick couldn’t figure out what exactly he had to be nervous about. He was probably expecting a nice countryside vacation being waited on hand and foot by a couple of peasants. Well, if that was the case, Harry would be in for a nasty surprise.

Greetings taken care of, Nick watched as Harry walked back over to the car to bring out his bag. He set it in the dirt, making Nick wince even though it wasn’t his absurdly expensive possessions that were being ruined, and pulled his sister into a tight hug that lasted for so long it actually made Nick physically uncomfortable.

When Harry turned back, Nick could see the beginnings of tears in Harry’s eyes. Nick wasn’t having it. He would not have his sympathies played upon by some rich little upstart, royalty or not.

Despite his resistance to the whole idea, once it was settled, Nick had volunteered to take full responsibility for Harry. Aimee and Alexa were both perfectly capable of handling themselves, of course, but Nick was a bit of a worrywart, and he knew he’d feel better with Harry under his watchful eye instead.

And then there was the fact that he could live out his vengeful fantasies of making a member of the monarchy clean up after him. It was practically a dream come true.

“I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to,” Nick told Harry as he opened the door to the spare room, barely more than a closet really, “but at least you’ll have your own space.”

He half-expected Harry to demand that Nick give up his room instead, or something equally absurd, but Harry just nodded in acknowledgment and walked over to the bed to set down his bag.

“So, Alexa said your mother expects you to help out around the farm,” Nick continued, watching as Harry unzipped his bag and pulled out a pillow and blanket, arranging them neatly on the tiny bed. Nick wasn’t sure Harry’s giraffe limbs would even fit now that he was stood next to the thing for comparison. Oh, well. “Gain some real-life experience, and that.”

Still, Harry said nothing.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Nick said awkwardly. “There’s some clothes in the dresser you can wear. Meet me out by the back door when you’ve changed.”

The courteous thing to do would be to give Harry a few hours, a day even, to get adjusted, but Nick didn’t want to give him the illusion that there would be any special treatment.

Nick waited down on the back steps for nearly fifteen minutes, about ready to go up and drag Harry out of the spare room himself when the prince finally appeared at the door, silent and looking considerably less royal in some of Nick’s hand-me-downs.

The shorts had been a mistake, Nick realised immediately. On Nick, the cut-off denims came down to mid-thigh, but on Harry’s longer legs, they were considerably shorter, and to make things even worse, he’d rolled them up another few inches to expose even more of his bare thighs.

“Right,” Nick said chipperly, trying in vain not to stare at any part of Harry’s naked skin, shining like a beacon under the morning sun. “Chores. You’re to report to me every morning, and I’ll be the one supervising you while you’re here. Aimee and Alexa are usually pretty busy, so it’s best if you just stay out of their way. I take care of most of the day-to-day necessities, including lunch and dinner most nights, so you’ll be helping with that as well.”

“All right,” Harry said quietly, looking even more uncertain.

“Let’s get started, then.”

There was a fair amount of manual labour that went into maintaining a farm, even a small bit of acreage like the one Nick had found himself in charge of through some fluke of circumstance. Nick didn’t trust Harry enough to have him around the animals, so they started with the simple stuff first.

Harry did well enough watering the garden, which was a relief. If he couldn’t handle that, Nick would have been at a complete loss for what to do with him. Nick watched as he tip-toed carefully between the rows of sprouting fruits and vegetables, his tongue poking out just between his teeth in concentration. Nick had to remind himself that it wasn’t cute, because this was the prince, and the prince was not, could not, be under any circumstances, _cute_.

Harry looked unfairly pleased with himself once he’d finished his task, and that only made Nick more determined to wipe the smug little smile off his face.

“What’s next?” he asked.

“Mucking out the stables,” Nick told him with a barely disguised grin. There was no way Harry could enjoy himself surrounded by horse manure.

Nick was partially right. Harry clearly wasn’t a fan of the smell, but once the stables had been properly mucked out, Nick could hardly tear him away from the ponies, who had been left in the stable while Alexa and Aimee dealt with the full-sized versions outside in the paddock.

Harry even seemed to delight in doing the dishes, which was by far the worst chore in Nick’s expert opinion. Harry’s apparent ability to find some small nugget of enjoyment in every task he was assigned was really starting to get on Nick’s nerves.

After lunch, a quiet affair between the four of them at the picnic table in the back, as was customary, Nick pulled out the big guns.

“There’s a ditch at the back of the property that we use for the irrigation,” Nick informed Harry as they trudged through the grass to the location in question. “It has to be cleaned out periodically, and it’s a bit of a hassle.” Nick carefully omitted the fact that the ditch wasn’t due to be cleaned until the week after Harry was leaving. He refused to let an extra set of hands go unappreciated.

The state of the ditch, thanks to the early spring rains, was even more disgusting than usual. Nick—who usually was the one doing most of the grunt work when it came time to clean the damn thing, though Aimee and Alexa were almost always around to help—played a more traditional foreman in this case. He watched from the side-lines as Harry got knee-deep in the swampy water to clean out the mud and weeds.

He slipped once, falling face-first into the water. Nick jumped up without thinking and was almost in the water himself when Harry stood up again, bashful and soaked to the bone, but no worse for wear. Nick sat back down again quickly and folded his arms over his chest, embarrassed at his reaction. It would look bad if the prince drowned on his farm, he told himself, but even Nick couldn’t make himself believe it.

Nick realised his mistake when they made their trek back to the farmhouse around sunset. Harry was covered head to toe in mud, so dirty that the feeble water pressure inside their pipes wouldn’t be able to handle it. And Aimee would kill them herself if a speck of mud touched her hardwood floors.

“Wait,” Nick said as Harry reached for the knob on the back door. He grabbed for Harry’s collar, by far the cleanest part of him, and yanked him back hard, making the prince stumble. “Sorry,” he said automatically, forgetting his whole devious plan to humiliate Harry once he caught sight of the flash of panic on Harry’s face as he nearly lost his balance. “Um, you’ll have to hose off before you go inside,” Nick told him once Harry was stood on both feet again.

“I have to what?”

“Just—come with me.” Nick guided him over to the spigot at the back of the house and quickly screwed the hose on, testing the spray with his hand to make sure it wouldn’t actually hurt when he pointed it at Harry’s skin. “You can strip down if you’d like,” Nick told him absently. “It’ll probably make it easier.”

By the time Nick glanced up again, Harry was already down to his briefs and had both thumbs hooked into the waistband, tugging them down far enough that Nick caught a flash of light brown pubic hair before his brain caught up to his eyes.

“That’s enough!” he called out, choking a little on his own spit. “I mean, that’s fine, you can shower once we get you rinsed off. There’s no reason to—” He was babbling, he realised as Harry stared back at him in confusion. Rambling, and well, there was a lot for his mind to process.

Nick turned the water up a little more and pointed the nozzle directly at Harry, spinning around him in a slow circle as he endeavoured to wash off the dirt as quickly as possible so he could escape to his own room.

Nick was most surprised by the amount of tattoos covering Harry’s left arm and torso. I didn’t quite seem becoming for a prince, especially one who had never served in a military of any kind (despite his proclivity for naval-themed pieces), but Harry’s body was littered with them, none of which seemed to have any particular rhyme or reason.

The ones on Harry’s belly and hips were unfairly inviting, and Nick had to physically pull his gaze away, focusing instead on safer places, like the hollow of his throat, or the crease of his elbow, the arcing dip of his spine—okay, maybe no place on Harry’s body was safe.

By the time Nick finished, both were breathing hard, and Nick didn’t think he was imagining the tightness in the crotch of his own dungarees.

“I’ll go fetch you a towel,” Nick said numbly as he turned and left Harry standing there, still dripping wet in the grass.

And if Nick wanked over the image later that night, well, that was his own business.

Nick had every intention when he woke up the next morning of doubling down on his vindictive punishment for Harry. That is, until Harry showed up at the breakfast table, all soft and sleepy-eyed with his fluffy hair askew, and suddenly Nick couldn’t bring himself to go through with it.

Nick decided to let him take care of the easier chores on his own instead, trying to put some distance between them. While Harry was out feeding the goats and collecting eggs, Nick was scrubbing the farmhouse spotless in an attempt to keep his own mind distracted.

When he finally came out to collect Harry so they could prepare food for the afternoon, Nick was startled to find Harry sitting on the floor of the chicken pen, the hens literally eating out of the palm of his hand.

The hell spawn, as Nick affectionately referred to the chickens, had never once taken to Nick the way they had now with Harry. One of the meaner hens even let Harry pick her up, quietly accepting a kiss on the top of her head before she was set back down again.

Nick couldn’t do anything but stare gob smacked at the whole spectacle before finally collecting himself enough to summon Harry to join him inside.

Lunch for the day was cold-cut sandwiches and poppy seed muffins, with fresh lemonade. The trio tended to eat lunches separately due to the time constraints of their various duties, which left Nick and Harry sat alone on the back steps with their food as the sun started to drift lower in the sky.

Nick watched as Harry stared down at the muffin in his lap with a frown.

“They don’t have muffins at the palace?” Nick asked through a mouthful of his own. It was meant as a joke, but the look on Harry’s face made Nick believe for a moment that they really didn’t.

“Usually they’re smaller than this,” Harry replied slowly. “I don’t know how to…could I have a fork, maybe?”

Nick spluttered, spraying crumbs and seeds everywhere. “You can’t use a fork to eat a muffin,” he said incredulously.

“Why not?”

“Well—just because! It’s not on!” He reached over and dug his fingers into the top of Harry’s muffin, ignoring the cries of protest that ensued. “Just try it,” he said, putting the crumbly glob of muffin directly in front of Harry’s face. “Well, go on, then.”

Nick didn’t register just how terrible an idea it was until Harry’s lips had closed around his fingers, his teeth just grazing the skin of Nick’s thumb as he took the entire bite of muffin into his mouth. He chewed it contemplatively, his eyes widening a little bit in evident pleasure.

“See?” Nick said, the words coming out a little rougher than he’d intended. “Some food tastes better when you eat it like a savage.”

After they finished, they brought out the fruits of their labour to Aimee and Alexa, who were sat on the edge of the paddock, still finishing their sandwiches. Nick couldn’t help but notice the way Harry stared at the horses inside in transparent fascination. He wasn’t sure why Harry seemed so awed by them. Surely the royal family had horses.

Still, the image stuck in his mind throughout the rest of the day, rivalled only by the sight of Harry with a dozen chicks bundled into his shirt later that evening when he helped Nick with the incubator. Nick was certain now that he was punished by some divine force.

Things only got worse for Nick when Harry literally fell asleep at the kitchen table during pudding, forcing Nick to have to carry him upstairs to his bed. Harry didn’t stir once, not even when Nick tugged off his shorts and socks and tucked him in, or when Nick stood in the doorway afterward, staring at Harry’s sleeping form under the blankets for a good thirty seconds before finally closing the door and making his retreat.

Nick took pity on Harry again the next day and shuttled him straight to the paddock to help Aimee, unable to get the mental image of Harry staring lovingly at the horses out of his head. It was worth it, just to see the expression of delight spreading across Harry’s features when Aimee showed him how to brush the horses and comb their manes.

Nick puttered around nearby, doing his best to look busy, but he couldn’t help but steal a glance from time to time—checking to make sure Harry wasn’t getting into trouble, of course.

“Can I ride one?” Harry asked out of nowhere just as they were finishing up lunch.

Nick choked on his crisp while Alexa looked on in concern.

Aimee shrugged. “I don’t see why not. You ever ridden before?”

“Only English,” Harry replied, eyeing the western saddle on the palomino next to them a bit apprehensively.

“Don’t you want to change first?” Nick cut in, feeling a little desperate as he stared at Harry’s milky-white legs, still far too naked for comfort in Nick’s old shorts. “You’d be more comfortable in some proper trousers.”

Harry looked to Aimee for guidance.

She shrugged again. “I’m just going to take him round the paddock on Franklin, Nick. He’ll be fine.”

Nick wasn’t fine, though. Not with Harry’s arse bouncing against the saddle, putting visions in Nick’s head of him bouncing on other things instead. He was practically in tears by the time Harry stiffly climbed off, all smiles despite his obvious discomfort. Nick’s heart positively melted when he placed a little kiss against Franklin’s velvety nose before feeding the old horse a carrot as a treat.

A storm rolled in less than an hour later, cutting short their work for the day. They all retreated inside as soon as the animals were all safe and secure, just as the first drops of rain started to hit the ground.

Harry was a mess during dinner, shifting uncomfortably in his seat whenever he thought no one was looking and wincing through every bite of his shepherd’s pie. It didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out that Nick had been right about Harry riding with shorts.

Nick sighed to himself and put it out of his mind for the time being, focusing on finishing his dinner instead.

He waited until Alexa and Aimee had gone to bed before going to retrieve the tub of anaesthetic ointment they kept on hand for emergencies, sneaking it upstairs and carefully tip-toeing past the master bedroom where Alexa and Aimee slept to the spare room at the end of the hall.

Nick knocked lightly, in warning, and then opened the door.

Harry was in bed but awake, peering curiously over his shoulder as Nick quietly closed the door behind him.

“Thought you could use some of this,” Nick said awkwardly, shifting the tub in his arms as he stood over Harry, suddenly at a loss for how to proceed. “Ah, for the chafing, I mean. From the saddle.” This wasn’t going how he’d planned. Not in the slightest.

“Oh,” Harry replied, blinking up at Nick as if he weren’t really sure how to respond. “It’s not that bad, really. I’m fine.”

“Let me see.”

“What?”

Nick’s face went hot. “Let me see,” he repeated. “If you ignore it now, it’ll just be worse in the morning.”

It was such a flimsy excuse, but Harry only stared at him a moment longer before shoving the blankets down past his hips. Nick sucked in a sympathetic hiss at the sight of Harry’s thighs, rubbed raw from the saddle and mottled with dark bruises underneath. If he’d known Harry’s skin was so sensitive, he would have pushed harder for protective clothing.

“That’ll help?” Harry asked. He had his bottom lip pinched between his teeth as he glanced back at the tub of ointment in Nick’s hands.

“Yeah. Want me to put it on?”

Nick was expecting Harry to say no, to ask him to leave it there so he could do it himself, but Harry just nodded.

“Should I…?” Harry asked, his hands going to the hem of his boxer-briefs meaningfully.

Nick gulped. “You don’t have to,” he said, his morals winning out over the desire to just tell him yes. “If you’re not comfortable, I mean.”

“Why would I be uncomfortable?” Harry looked genuinely confused.

“Because I’m gay.”

The words hung in the silence as the two men stared at each other, unblinking. Harry was the first to break it.

“I don’t mind,” he said breathily, tugging his pants down to his knees while Nick nearly swallowed his own tongue.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” Nick said as he knelt down between Harry’s spread thighs, fully aware of how bizarre it was that he’d ended up in this situation.

His fingers felt electrified as they came into contact with Harry’s skin, the numbing properties of the ointment doing nothing to distil the sensation as he carefully slathered the slippery substance up and down Harry’s thighs before moving to his arse, no less raw or bruised than his legs.

Harry shuddered when Nick’s fingers ghosted over his cleft. “Sorry,” Nick said, automatically moving his hand to a safer area.

“It’s fine,” Harry squeaked.

Nick was grateful Harry was flat on his stomach, unable to see anything but his own pillow, because he knew his face was bright red and that there was a tell-tale bulge in his pyjamas. Once finished, Nick leapt out of bed and quickly positioned the tub in front of his groin, just in time to hide his semi from Harry as he looked back over his shoulder to see what had happened.

“Just let that soak in for a while,” Nick instructed, voice trembling a little despite his best efforts to remain calm. “We can put some more on tomorrow if you need it.”

“You’re leaving?” Harry asked.

Nick almost dropped the tub. “What?”

Harry pinked up suddenly, chewing even harder at his bottom lip as he stared at Nick. “I thought you might—I don’t like sleeping alone.”

Nick wasn’t surprised that Harry was used to sharing his bed, but he wasn’t sure how to process whatever this…invitation was that Harry was apparently extending to him. “You want me to sleep with you?” he blurted out. “I mean, you want me to sleep in the same bed. As you.”

Harry nodded shyly. “I haven’t slept much since I got here,” he confessed quietly. “I’m a little homesick, I suppose.”

Nick found himself nodding in agreement without even really realising what he was agreeing to. “Let me just…. I’ll go put this away and then I’ll be back.”

He darted out of the room in a panic. Once the tub was put back, he contemplated having a wank in his own bedroom before going back to Harry’s, but quickly dismissed the idea once he realised how obvious it would be to Harry if he did that. He’d just have to tough it out.

Harry was already half-asleep when Nick walked back into his room and crawled under the covers next to him, taking care to keep as much space as possible between them—which wasn’t much in Harry’s tiny little bed.

Nick closed his eyes immediately, trying to ignore the all-too obvious presence of Harry lying beside him, only to have that goal yanked firmly out of reach when Harry suddenly pressed up against Nick’s back, burying his face between Nick’s shoulder blades.

Nick froze, wondering if he should say something, but he decided it would only make it more awkward. He lay stiff as a board until Harry’s breathing evened out into a slow rhythm before finally relaxing in the other man’s grip and allowing himself to drift into unconsciousness.

When Nick woke, he knew immediately that something was wrong.

He jumped up out of bed, oblivious to Harry’s confused noises as he was jerked awake by Nick’s sudden movement. Nick could hear someone yelling outside. He wrenched open the shutters to find the world outside ablaze.

“Fuck!” Nick swore. He turned to find Harry standing in his way with the blankets pulled around him like a cape, looking concerned as he stared past Nick through the open window.

“What’s happening?” Harry demanded. “Should I go get water?”

“That’ll just make it worse,” Nick replied, shoving him out of the way. “Just stay here,” he ordered. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Nick raced downstairs, pulled on his boots, and then ran outside like his life depended on it. He could make out Alexa and Aimee near the sheep pen, where the fire seemed to be raging hottest, and several other shapes out in the distance, the neighbours come to see what had happened, no doubt.

It only took Nick a few seconds to determine that the cause of the fire must have been a downed power line, from the storm, colliding with a nearby tree. It looked to be contained, for now, but he could clearly see the source of the panic from Aimee and Alexa: the sheep pen was directly in the blaze’s path.

Nick sprinted toward them without a second thought, heading straight into the column of smoke billowing out from the burning oak tree to get through the entrance of the pen. There were still several lambs huddled together inside, bleating pathetically as they waited for rescue. Nick couldn’t carry all of them in one trip and he knew it.

He snatched up the two largest lambs, one under each arm, and battled his way through the smoke back out again. He collapsed onto the grass once he was a safe distance away, choking and sputtering and trying to catch his breath. He didn’t have much time. He needed to run back, to get the rest of the animals out, to make sure Aimee and Alexa were both all right.

But when Nick picked himself back up again and turned to head back into the inferno, he saw a tall figure emerging from the smoke with Aimee and Alexa standing on either side. They both had lambs cradled in their arms, and Nick could see Harry, now that the smoke had cleared, with one slung around the back of his neck, the other two stuffed into his jacket.

Nick was elated. He was furious.

“That’s all of them,” Harry said triumphantly as he leant over to allow Alexa to detach the lambs—who now seemed reluctantly to leave, bleating even louder as soon as they were removed from Harry’s person.

Nick could relate.

“I told you to stay inside,” he said forbiddingly, instead of sweeping Harry into his arms like he wished he could.

“But I—”

“Just go wait by the barn and keep out of the way,” Nick snapped before turning back to evaluate the state of the sheep they’d managed to rescue, despite the odds.

It was another hour, or more, before they got everything reasonably sorted, thanks to the help of their neighbours and the arrival of the fire department not long after their daring animal rescue. Harry stayed by the barn all the while, out of sight of the civilians who would no doubt recognise him in a heartbeat.

Once the sheep had been relocated to a safer place and the fire was put out, Nick stalked over to Harry to give him a piece of his mind. It was raining again, so Nick opened the barn door and pushed him inside, closing it behind them just to keep the draft out.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Nick demanded, refusing to give in to the part of himself that wanted to melt like butter just looking at Harry’s forlorn expression. “You could have been killed!”

“Right,” Harry replied bitterly. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to be responsible for something happening to the prince.”

“It’s not about that,” Nick shot back. “It’s about losing you!”

Harry stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as the silence grew. Nick didn’t know what to say now that he’d essentially confessed how he felt to the prince himself. He wasn’t sure there was anything else he could say. Nick’s cards were already on the table.

“Please say something,” Nick begged. “Please say you’re not going to have me beheaded or thrown in a dungeon or—”

Harry kissed him.

Nick froze, not sure how to react at first, and then he grabbed Harry’s face with both hands and kissed him back even harder, opening Harry’s mouth up to get to the true taste of him beneath the coating of ash dusting his lips.

“Fuck,” Nick breathed out into the millimetres of space between them as he pulled away.

“I’d like to,” Harry said, his tongue swiping over his lips as if trying to find a trace of Nick still lingering there.

Nick swallowed hard, already chubbing up in his pyjamas at the implication of more. “Up the ladder,” he said, herding Harry over to it with his hips.

“We’re not going to literally roll in the hay, are we?” Harry asked as he climbed, sounding legitimately worried.

Nick laughed and followed him up to the loft, where Nick had put together a makeshift bedroom for special occasions. “I don’t like to bring blokes home while Aimee and Alexa are in the house,” he explained. “Thin walls.” They weren’t quite as courteous in return, but it was Aimee’s house, after all.

Harry flopped down onto a pile of pillows and blankets with a sigh. He squirmed a little as he fought to get his clothes off, still probably suffering the adverse effects of his horse ride. Nick would have to careful with him.

“I feel like I’m obligated to make love to you properly,” Nick confessed as he kicked off his own trousers before crawling over Harry’s body to kiss him again. “Missionary position and everything. Because you’re a prince and all.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “In that case, I feel like we should do it doggystyle. Because, you know, we’re on a farm.”

Nick arched an eyebrow. “You win.”

Harry laughed and shoved Nick off of him so he could flip over onto his hands and knees. Nick was already raring to go, but he was confident that the sight of Harry presenting himself like an offering would have been enough to go from soft to hard in five seconds flat under other circumstances.

He slicked his fingers up quickly, placing them tentatively at Harry’s hole. “You’ve done this before, right?” It seemed like Nick would have known if the prince was gay, or into blokes, at least, but maybe the press wasn’t quite as free as it claimed to be.

“Yes,” Harry said exasperatedly, spreading his legs out a little wider in invitation.

Nick didn’t need much encouragement after that. He pressed in experimentally, and finding Harry receptive, quickly pushed in with a second, finally wringing out a gasp from the younger man. “Good?” he checked.

Harry nodded. “If you don’t get in me in the next thirty seconds,” he threatened, “I’ll have you arrested for treason.”

There wasn’t much bite to it with Harry squirming and gasping under Nick’s fingers, but he obliged anyway, pulling on a condom and hurriedly slicking himself up before lining his cock up with Harry’s hole. He entered Harry in one smooth stroke, biting back a groan at the tightness. It had been a long time since Nick had last fucked anyone, but being inside Harry was already on another level entirely.

Nick went at it slowly at first, until Harry begged him for more. “I like the pain,” he breathed, spurring Nick to slam his hips into Harry’s bruised arse to just hear the strangled screams that erupted from his throat with every thrust.

“You gonna come?” Nick asked, once he started to feel the tell-tale signs of his own orgasm.

“You want an honest answer?” Harry replied.

Nick laughed in spite of himself and stilled, keeping himself buried to the base of his cock inside Harry even while he continued to slowly jerk him off. “My skills too rusty?” he teased, though there was a hint of sincere insecurity in it.

Harry shook his head. “My knees hurt,” he complained.

“I thought you liked pain.”

“Not this kind.”

Nick pulled out slowly and rolled over onto his back. “Cowgirl?” he suggest mischievously.

Harry rolled his eyes, but climbed on top of Nick without protest, gasping prettily at the pressure the new position put on his bum and thighs. “Fuck,” he hissed as he settled back down onto Nick’s cock.

“Good?” Nick asked, barely able to get the words out himself.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. “Yeah, fuck.” But despite his enthusiasm, Nick could tell that he could barely hold himself up, the muscles in his arms and thighs trembling after only a few minutes of rocking down onto Nick’s cock.

“Lie down, love,” Nick coaxed, reaching up to tug Harry down against his chest by his armpits, taking care not to dislodge him in the process. “Let me do the work.” He pumped into Harry a few times, gauging his reactions. “Can you come like this?” he asked.

“Sometimes.” Harry sounded half-asleep, and if Nick didn’t know already how exhausted he’d been these past few days, his ego would have taken a serious hit. “You can come,” he added, the words slurring together.

“You sure?”

“Mhmm.”

Nick, as a rule, didn’t particularly like to come before his partners, but if Harry wanted him to, then Nick would make it worth his while. He punched up into Harry twice as hard on the next stroke, making him cry out, and then again, putting all thoughts of Harry’s pleasure out of his mind for the moment as he fucked into him faster and faster.

Harry was full-on sobbing by the time Nick came, spilling into the condom with a bone-crushing grip around Harry’s torso. He jerked up against Harry as he rode out the aftershocks, still feeling Harry hard between their bellies.

“You all right, love?” Nick breathed against Harry’s ear, making him shiver.

“Mhmm.”

“Can you move at all?”

“Yeah.” Harry rolled onto his back with a little encouragement, and laid there, splayed out serenely with his cock still hard against his stomach while Nick tied off the condom and tossed it into the corner.

“You still up for more?” Nick asked as he crawled back over to Harry, kneeling between his legs.

“As long as I get to come,” Harry joked. He threw an arm back over his head, and Nick couldn’t help but duck down to press a quick kiss against his armpit.

“Your skin’s so soft,” Nick marvelled.

“Thanks,” Harry replied deadpan. “I would still like to have an orgasm, though.”

“Whatever your majesty wishes,” Nick shot back before lifting Harry’s knees with both arms, propping his arse up at a forty-five-degree angle.

“What are you—?” Harry started to ask, only to be cut off by the feeling of Nick’s tongue against his arse, probing experimentally at his already-used hole. “Oh my god,” he breathed. Nick could see his stomach clenching spasmodically as he worked his tongue in and out, gently nibbling around the rim and nosing insistently at his taint, trying to put enough pressure on Harry’s prostate from the outside to nudge him toward orgasm.

He didn’t need much work. Harry had barely touched a hand to his cock before he was coming, coating his tattooed stomach in white while Nick continued to lick into him, keeping it up until Harry was crying again and begging him to stop.

“Good?” Nick asked, wiping his mouth before launching himself forward onto the pillows by Harry’s head.

Harry hummed with his eyes clothes. “It wasn’t bad enough to get you thrown in the dungeon.”

Nick snorted. He stared at Harry for a long moment in silence as Harry drifted closer and closer to falling asleep. He was losing his chance. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Mhmm.”

Nick leaned in close to whisper the words into Harry’s ear, like they were children. “I don’t want you to leave.” When he pulled back, Harry’s eyes were open, his pupils still blown wide, circled by just a thin strip of green.

“Well, I am just the back-up heir,” Harry reminded him as he snuggled in closer to Nick’s body. “It’s not like they need me back at the palace anytime soon.” He kissed Nick deeply, unselfconscious about the taste of his own arse on Nick’s tongue. “And besides, I’d miss the animals too much.”

“Just the animals, eh?”

Harry wrinkled his nose with a fond smile as he leaned in to kiss Nick again. “Maybe some other things, too.”


End file.
